The Potato Chronicles
by gypsywriter135
Summary: A series of moments between our two favorite brothers. Still ongoing. Rated for language. Different genres for each chapter. Chapter 5: Gilbert's birthday was something that Ludwig never forgot, even in the hardest of times
1. Fondness

**Authors Note (Please read!): **So I have all these tiny little moments between Gil and Lud running through my head, but they're not long enough for an actual story and I'm too lazy to write anything longer than the clips I have, because then it'll turn into a multi-chapter continuous story and I don't have the time nor patience to do a continuous multi-chapter right now.

So I thought I'd just write the little snippets that the plot bunnies have hidden in my head and just put them all in different "chapters" on here. They're all with our favorite German brothers, and range from fluff to light Germancest to heavier Germancest. There're some Alternate Universes, like this one, that I just don't wanna write an entire back story for, because it'll take too much time.

So here. Lol. The first of probably many. I'm putting this as complete, but expect more.

Enough of me rambling.

**Disclaimer: I got the first season on DVD, but that's all I own...**

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><p>Sixteen-year-old Ludwig walked into the small apartment he shared with his older brother tired, angry, and dripping wet. He scowled as he shook his bangs out of his eyes and dropped his soaking back pack on the mat inside the front door, toeing off his equally wet shoes. He shrugged out of his coat, trying to find a place to hang it up to dry without creating more of a mess before giving up and squelching to the bathroom hurriedly, peeling off the rest of his clothes and hanging them over the shower rail, water droplets hitting the floor of the tub.<p>

The tall blonde was so wet, that he even had to change into a different pair of boxers before slipping into a fresh pair of warm pajama pants and a t-shirt.

At least Gilbert had remembered to do the laundry, even if he had forgotten to pick Ludwig from school.

Running a hand through his still drying hair, Ludwig frowned. He had waited two hours after school had ended for his brother, thinking that he was simply running late and had forgotten to call. But when the last teacher left and he was alone on the commons, Ludwig figured that something had gone wrong. He had tried calling his brother, dismayed and a little worried when no answer came from Gilbert's phone.

So he had began the ten mile trek home from school, only for it to begin to downpour thirty minutes into his journey, and had not let up since. The entire walk home, miserable already with the weather, his wandering mind had come up with millions of terrible circumstances which could have happened to his brother.

Could he have gotten into a car accident? Was he in the hospital? Was is as simple as he had to work late and forgot to call? Did his phone die and he had no other way of contacting Ludwig? Or… was he-

Ludwig had shaken that thought from his head with vigor, trying not imagine the worst case scenario. The young German didn't know what he would do if something happened to Gilbert; he had no other family to go to, hence why the two were living in their shitty apartment to begin with. Gilbert was working two jobs to pay for rent, Ludwig's tuition, his own online classes, and the bills. If something happened….

The blonde had hurried home as fast as he could, hoping to find a note or a message on their home phone about Gilbert's where-abouts.

So imagine his surprise when he turned into the street of their apartment to see his brother's small, rusty car sitting in front of their building. His worry vanished, and he became irked when he asked their landlord if Gilbert was home to find out that the older man had gotten home earlier in the afternoon and gone straight upstairs; he hadn't been seen since.

"He's probably drunk," Ludwig muttered to himself as he wandered to the kitchen to find his wasted older brother. It would explain why he had forgotten to pick him up.

His irritation, however, melted into fondness as he flicked the kitchen light on. Gilbert was sitting at the table, bills strewn all over the surface, an empty notebook sitting besides an open laptop. He was slumped over on the table, a textbook hidden under an arm that cradled his silver-haired head, pencil hanging loosely from his hand. His cell phone was sitting comfortably on a stack of papers, muffling the vibrations.

Ludwig allowed a small smile to form on his face as he gazed at his brother. He'd probably been doing some homework and paying bills when he had dozed off a few hours ago. It was a rare sight; usually the older man was running around so much that he barely had time for anything else. He probably got off work early and had decided to get ahead on a few things before falling asleep.

The German boy shook his head, already forgiving Gilbert, as he disappeared into the living room before returning with a large blanket hung over one arm. He quietly closed the computer and moved it out of the way, shuffling some bills and papers into stacks before shoving them away. Ludwig gently pried the pencil from Gilbert's grip, setting it aside, before he draped the blanket over the sleeping man's shoulders. He planted a small kiss on his temple.

"Ich liebe dich, bruder," he muttered, a fond smile on his face. He stood up straight and headed to fridge, grabbed some leftovers from the night before, and took it to the living room to watch some television before starting his homework for the night.

As he left the kitchen, Gilbert shifted in his sleep, unconsciously tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and smiled softly.

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><p>I know it's cliched and been done thousands of times before, but this little scene has been in my head for months and I thought it was adorable, so I had to write it...<p>

*Flails arms* DON'T JUDGE ME!

(P.S. I don't know what to name this yet, so as of right now, it's untitled. Anyone with any ideas, let me know! For the winner, I'll write a little snippet of their own German bros. moment, as long as its not too explicit. :D )


	2. Scars

So, getting your wisdom teeth out isn't very fun... My mouth is sore :(

And I have three days off from work, and I'm sitting here, watching "Shark Week," but it's all reruns and I'm bored and don't really know what to do...

So, I thought that it'd be a great time to work on the plethora of stories that I have yet to finish... So here's the next installment of this story. Like I said before, anyone who can come up with a title that I like, I'll write a snippet of German bros. for them, so long as it's not too explicit.

But for now, enjoy.

**Disclaimer: No matter how much I throw a temper tantrum, "Hetalia" still doesn't belong to me...**

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><p>Ludwig stood in front of his bathroom mirror, examining his own naked torso with curiosity. Beside him, Gilbert sleepily brushed his teeth, red eyes half-closed still from the night's sleep. Blue eyes swept over the smaller man's frame, taking in all the faded scars and other markings on the pale skin. Old injuries that never truly healed were seen poking out of the tank top that his brother was wearing, many of them hardly noticeable unless you were looking for them.<p>

When Gilbert spit into the sink and rinsed his mouth out with water, Ludwig spoke. "Bruder?"

Gilbert grunted in response, letting him know that the still sleepy man was listening.

"Bruder, where'd you get all those scars from?"

Gilbert caught Ludwig's gaze in the mirror and raised a silver eyebrow. Ludwig stared back intently, blue eyes questioning.

"From battle and what not," was the albino's cryptic reply. "You should know; all nations have them. It marks our history."

Ludwig nodded, refusing to break eye contact. "Ja, I know that, bruder," he said.

"Then why'd-"

"I'm asking about the ones that don't have to do with us being nations," Ludwig interrupted, and Gilbert scowled. "You know, the ones that come from us being human."

The two stared at each other in the mirror for a few moments before Gilbert sighed and lifted his shirt above his head, twisting around to point to a small, jagged scar on the back of his shoulder.

"I was climbing a tree when I was little," he said. "I got all the way to the top before I realized that the tree was home to dozens of bats sleeping. They didn't take too kindly to being woken, and swarmed me. I got halfway down before I had to bale. Landed fine, but one of the buggers got in a lucky shot. They're teeth are sharper than you think."

Ludwig's blue eyes stared at the small scar before moving to a larger one on his hip that went from the middle of his back to his belly-button. Gilbert followed his gaze with his own eyes.

"That one's actually from a hunting accident," he explained. "My stallion spooked and I fell off; landed right on a bear trap. I was small enough that it wrapped around that much."

Ludwig reached out and traced the three inch scar on the back of Gilbert's neck. "This one?" he asked.

"Tripped over a rock next to a blacksmith," Gilbert muttered, a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks. "His hot poke got me when he whipped around to try and catch me."

Ludwig grinned before he touched another one between his shoulder blades.

"Sparing with Elizabeta. The only time she's ever gotten me with a sword."

"But not with a frying pan," Ludwig chuckled.

The Prussian mumbled something unintelligible before Ludwig's hand traveled to his skinny front, where it hovered over an oddly shaped one by his right shoulder. "What's this one from?"

"Actually, that's from Toris and Feliks. The two got me with my own arrow before I could retreat," Gilbert said with a scowl.

Ludwig chuckled again before his touch moved to one that was partly hidden by the man's boxers. It was long and skinny, and came up right above his hip. "What about this?"

Gilbert was silent for a moment, and when Ludwig looked up to the mirror, the albino's face was blank, eyes focused on the sink.

"Bruder?" Ludwig asked, concern welling up.

"That's from Ivan," Gilbert said quietly.

All color drained from Ludwig's face and he pulled his hand away quickly as if Gilbert's skin had burned him. "Bruder, I'm sorry, I-"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Gilbert muttered, and pulled his shirt back on, avoiding his younger brother's gaze.

Ludwig nodded, and the two continued their morning routine in an uncomfortable silence. When they went down for breakfast, Ludwig cleared his throat. Gilbert looked up from his plate of pancakes at him warily.

"What?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

"Bruder, I… uh…" Ludwig struggled to put his thoughts into words.

"Spit it out, West," the albino snapped, setting his fork down.

"Uh… I was just wondering… you have so many scars…"

Gilbert sighed. "We've been over this, West."

"Ja, but… how come the only ones I have are from training with you, or reflect my status as a nation? Why do I have so few when you have so many?"

Gilbert gazed at him for a long moment, red eyes guarded and face blank. He finally let out a long sigh before running a hand over his face and resettled his gaze on the younger male.

"You don't have any scars because when you were young, I never let anything happen to you," Gilbert said quietly. "I didn't want you to know the pain that humans could feel, because then you would be stronger. You would never know what physical pain felt like, and would never be tied down by the feeling; nothing would hold you back."

Ludwig watched as Gilbert stood and grabbed his plate, still full of food, and dumped it in the sink, blue eyes wide.

"I didn't want you to feel the pain that the rest of us do, because you were different. You were going to be the best of us all, and wouldn't have any human emotions tying you down. You were going to be great, but… I guess that sheltering you for so long… it was my mistake. Maybe if I had…" He shook his head. "Either way, it's my fault. I took all your scars for you, and, even though I'm happy with the man you've become, maybe…"

The Prussian stopped himself. "It doesn't matter. You don't have any scars because I took them instead. That's the important thing."

Ludwig watched, eyes wide and mind numb, as Gilbert grabbed his shoes and left through the front door, slamming it shut behind him.

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><p>I'm actually not too happy with how this one came out. It was different in my head, but oh, well. Reviews are appreciated. Flames will be given to the sharks on TV.<p> 


	3. Routine

This has been bugging me for a while. So I decided to take a crack at it. I'm not really sure how well it worked out...

But I guess I'll let you be the judge of that :)

**Disclaimer: "Hetalia" doesn't belong to me... Even though I keep asking for Prussia...**

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><p>Ludwig was a creature of habit. He liked his routine, and became flustered and upset if any part of his day was off balance.<p>

In the mornings, he woke up five minutes before his alarm was set to go off at six, and turned it off before the obnoxious sound went off. He then promptly got up, slipped into his slippers and trudged to the bathroom to take a shower. First he lathered himself up, then shampooed, rinsed, and repeated. Ten minutes later, he exited the bath, wrapped a towel around his waist, and brushed his teeth. He then got dressed, gelled his hair, and went downstairs for breakfast.

In the kitchen, while the coffee was brewing, he fed the dogs and walked outside to get the newspaper. When he returned, the coffee was done, and he poured himself a huge cup, sitting down at the table with a bowl of cereal to read the paper. Berlitz would come over and lay her head on his lap while he read, content with the hand that absently scratched behind her ears.

At seven, Ludwig put his dishes in the dishwasher and quickly made some pancakes for his brother when he woke up, writing a list of chores for the older man to do while he was at work, even though he knew that they wouldn't get done. He put the finished plate of pancakes in the oven to keep warm, placed the list on the table at his brother's place, and put the dirty cookware in the sink to soak.

At seven twenty-five, he made his way down the basement steps to peek in at his brother. When he opened the door to the left of the bottom of the stairs, Gilbert was sprawled out on his queen-sized bed, facedown and hugged his pillow tightly. Ludwig would frown until the albino shifted in his sleep slightly; at least then he knew his brother was still alive. The blonde would then quietly shut the door and make his way back upstairs, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his suit jacket before heading out the door, briefcase in hand.

The drive to work would be uneventful, and when he arrives at the office, he would park his car in his normal parking spot, and head inside the building. He would clock in, go to his office, and finish up some paperwork. At ten fifteen, his boss would come and they would discuss any economic problems, as well as other issues that Germany was having. The next World Meeting date would be decided, and at eleven o'clock, Ludwig's cell phone would ring. His boss would dismiss himself, and the blonde would answer the call. Feliciano would be on the other line, and the happy Italian would talk for an hour before Ludwig politely (finally) excused himself to get some lunch. He would head to the cafeteria and pick out some wurst and a bottle of water.

When it hit twelve thirty, Ludwig trudged back to his office, answering his cell phone once more. Gilbert would be on the other end, asking where his pancakes were, did he really have to do those chores, and when was he going to be home? Ludwig would answer all his questions patiently, sliding into his desk chair and booting up his computer once more. He would tell his brother that he'd be home around six, and they would have dinner together, and to try not to annoy Roderich too much. He didn't want to have to pick him up from the hospital after Elizabeta beat him senseless with her frying pan.

For the next four hours, Ludwig actually got some work done, and at four forty-five, his assistant would bring in another stack of paper for him to fill out. He'd thank her, go through them and sort out which ones he would take home for the night.

Five fifteen found Ludwig back in his car, heading home. When he pulled into his driveway at exactly five fifty-eight, the dogs would bound up to him, and he would greet each with an affectionate pat to the head. Gilbert would be leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

Ludwig would greet his brother with a nod and brush past him, untying his shoes and setting them inside the closet. The other man would shut the door, complaining about how he was hungry, and would follow Ludwig to the kitchen.

Of course, the dishes from the morning would still be in the sink, and Ludwig and Gilbert would bicker about the chores as Ludwig cooked, Gilbert sitting on one of the stools at the counter.

At six fifty, Ludwig set the table, and five minutes later, the two brothers sat down to eat. Gilbert would ask how his day was, and then launch into his own tale about he spent his day. Ludwig would cringe and scowl at his brother's behavior.

At seven twenty, Gilbert would wander to the living room to watch T.V. and Ludwig would clean up the kitchen. He'd finish the other chores that Gilbert hadn't done, and then head to his room to change into his pajamas. He'd then grab his briefcase and sit on the couch next to his brother, pulling out the forms to get some work done.

Eight o'clock had Gilbert's phone ringing, and the older man hungrily grabbed for it, answering it. It would be either Antonio or Francis, sometimes Mathias, and Gilbert would walk into the other room to talk.

When the clock turned to eight sixteen, Ludwig could be certain that Gilbert would begin to yell. The one on the other end of the phone had obviously made an insensitive remark, and Gilbert took offense. Eight twenty-eight, Gilbert slammed his phone shut and walked back to the living room, plopping down next to his brother, grumbling under his breath.

Eight thirty had Ludwig asking if Gilbert was okay, who would scoff and nod. A minute later, the albino would ask what he was doing.

The answer had two scenarios, depending on how Gilbert was feeling. One: he would ask to help, and Ludwig would tell him no. Two: he would scowl and snort. Both ended the same way, though. Gilbert would get mad and go on a rant about how he couldn't do anything. Ludwig would get mad – he often blamed his exhaustion – and the two would have a yelling match. Ludwig would argue that he had left a list of things for the other to do, and he had simply ignored them. Gilbert would scream that it wasn't what he was talking about.

At nine o'nine, Gilbert would storm downstairs, slamming his bedroom door. Ludwig would sigh and sink back into the couch, running a hand over his face. Five minutes would pass before he would try to do his papers again, only to realize that he couldn't concentrate. He'd sit there, staring at the television, until nine forty, when he would sigh, gather his papers and stack them in his briefcase once more. He'd stand up, shut the T.V. off, and lock all the doors and windows. He'd get the dogs settled for the night and turn on the alarm system, biting the inside of his lip before slipping downstairs, barely making a sound.

He'd stop outside his brother's bedroom door, which was crack open, light seeping into the dark of the rest of the basement, and stand there, listening.

At ten o'clock, Ludwig's heart would constrict as his brother's soft sobs reached his ears, and he'd stand rooted to the spot.

For the next hour, the young German would stand and listen, unknown to the single occupant in the room. Ludwig knew that, behind all the bravado and smiles and arrogance, Gilbert was hurt that he was no longer a country. He couldn't stand the rest of the world continued to move on, and he was stuck living in his brother's basement until time decided that he should finally die.

At eleven thirteen, long after Gilbert had cried himself to sleep, Ludwig allowed his own tears to fall. And as they flowed down his face silently, Ludwig made his way to his own bed, climbing in and hugging his knees to his chest.

As much as he loved his daily routine, he really wished that he could skip this part.

At eleven thirty-one, Ludwig would sigh, rubbing his wet cheeks dry, and close his tired eyes. At eleven thirty-two, he'd take a deep breath to steady his nerves, telling himself to settle down so that he could get some sleep.

At eleven forty-three, Ludwig would finally drift off to sleep.

In the morning, five minutes before his alarm would go off, he'd awaken. He'd lie in bed for four minutes, silently praying that his daily routine would be the same as it had been the day before.

Because even though he hated the second half of his day, even though Gilbert was in so much emotional pain, Ludwig was too selfish to grant his brother the peace that the other so badly wanted.

He didn't think he'd be able to handle it if Gilbert were leave.

His entire routine would be screwed up ten ways to Sunday.

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><p>I'm not very good at writing stories without dialogue...<p>

Anyways, the scene with Ludwig standing outside Gil's door, listening to him cry himself to sleep, has been in my mind for a long while. I'm very much like Ludwig, where if something gets off schedule, I kinda freak out, so I tried to incorporate a little of that in this story. I'm so precise on what time I do everything, my friends and family know my schedule exactly.

Anyways, like I said, I'm not sure how well this worked out. Reviews are greatly appreciated, while flames shall be used to burn my school bills to ash. A title is still needed as well...


	4. Freak

I've been thinking about this for a long while. It's always kinda intrigued me, and I decided to actually write about it.

There will be more notes at the end. But for now...

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Hetalia".**

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><p>Germany walked down the street, nervously fiddling with the hem of his coat sleeves as the snow fell around him. He tilted his head up, the visor of his hat coming into view. Beside him walked Prussia, hands stuffed into his own coat pockets as he grumbled under his breath, cursing the cold weather.<p>

"Bruder, please," he begged, blue eyes roaming over Prussia's form. "He's been wanting to meet you for a long while; please try to behave."

The silver-haired man shot the German a glare. "I don't give a fuck. Why couldn't he have come to my place; then at least I wouldn't have to walk through Berlin in the middle of fucking winter."

The tall blonde sighed. "I told you already, bruder," he said. "He's very busy trying to plan out what he wants exactly to happen to me. And you agreed to meet with him."

"Didn't know it was going to be like this," the smaller man muttered. He shivered. "You know I hate the cold."

"Ja, I know. But he's very anxious to meet you."

The turned a corner and Germany saw his office building in the distance, mentally cheering; they were almost there and then he wouldn't have to listen to his brother's complaining any longer.

"Of course he wants to meet the awesome me," Prussia told him. Germany rolled his eyes. "Plus, he probably wanted to see who raised you, too. No one could have done as awesome a job as I did. It's only natural."

"Sure, bruder," Germany humored the other man. His office was getting closer. All around the city, people were bustling around, trying to stay out of the cold as much as they could.

"Stop fidgeting," Prussia scolded, reaching over and slapping Germany's hand. The tall blonde snatched his hand away, frowning.

"I'm not," he lied, putting his hands in his pockets like his brother. "I'm just worried that you'll do something stupid or say something insulting to him."

Out of the corner of his eye, Germany saw Prussia shrug. "I won't if he doesn't give me the opening to do so. It's not my fault if I take advantage of an opportunity when it arises."

"That's what worries me…" Germany mumbled to himself. The two brothers turned down another street and came face to face with the German's office. Germany led the way up the small flight of marble steps and hurried into the building. He greeted his boss's secretary with a smile, and the petite blonde waved warmly back. When he turned to the closet, shrugging out of his jacket to hang it up, he looked over at Prussia. The albino was watching the girl with a predatory look.

"Hands off, bruder," he warned, tapping the smaller man on the shoulder to get his attention. His brother pouted, red eyes turning to meet Germany's blue ones.

"You're no fun, West," he said, unbuttoning his own jacket and throwing it haphazardly into the open closet door. Germany scowled at him. "What?"

The tall blonde sighed and bent down to pick up the coat, hanging it neatly next to his own before closing the door. "Bruder, please," he repeated his earlier request. "I know you don't really care about this, but meeting with Hitler is a big deal for me. He's been asking about you ever since he found that book about your Teutonic Knight days. He's very eager to meet you…"

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Relax, West," he smirked.

Germany frowned and straightened his tie as he turned around and walked down the hall, listening to his brother's footsteps behind him. When he reached Hitler's office, he turned to face Prussia.

"I'll go in and tell him you're here," he told him. "Wait in the hall until I return. And _please_," he begged once more, "don't move, don't talk to anyone that passes, don't touch anything, and behave when you meet him. This means a lot to me, bruder, and I-"

Prussia rolled his eyes and motioned for Germany to get away. "Ja, ja, West. I got it. Just get in there before you piss yourself."

The blonde scowled, but turned and knocked on the door lightly, only entering when the voice on the other side told him to. He shot Prussia one last glance before slipping in and shutting the door behind him.

In the room was Hitler himself, sitting at his desk with a huge map spread over it. Standing slightly behind him on either side were two military generals, both who glanced up when he entered. Germany walked up and stood in front of Hitler's desk, saluting before standing at attention.

"Ah, Germany," Hitler greeted, shutting a folder that he had in his lap and handing it to one of the generals. He stood and waved a hand, the two generals saluting him before turning to the second door in the office that resided on the other side of Hitler. Germany watched them go before his gaze flicked back to his boss.

"I'm glad to see you," the man said. He eyed his country for a moment. "Please, you may relax when in my presence. You are my country, not just my soldier."

Germany allowed himself to relax his pose slightly before addressing his superior. "Herr Hitler, I have brought along mien bruder with me, as you requested."

Hitler's face remained the same, but the air in the room changed significantly at those words. "Well, then, by all means, let him come in. I would very much like to meet this bruder of yours."

Germany nodded and turned around, heading back to the door. He opened it and peeked out, sure that Prussia had caused a mess of things in his short time alone. To his pleasant surprise, the albino was simply leaning against the wall on the other side of the hall, arms crossed over his chest and head back, eyes closed. He looked rather bored, which is why Germany was a little apprehensive about leaving him alone for much loner; a bored Prussia was a dangerous Prussia.

"Bruder," he called, and red eyes snapped open to look at Germany. "Could you please come in?"

"About fucking time," the older nation snorted, pushing off from the wall. He brushed passed his brother and entered the room, Germany shutting the door quietly behind them. The pale nation stood before the dark-haired man, saluting him before smirking and stepping forward, holding out his hand.

"Glad to meet you, sir," he chirped, and Germany felt a little relief that Prussia was behaving himself for the time being.

However, when he looked up at his boss, he felt a little dread seep into his bones. The atmosphere in the room suddenly turned tense. Hitler was staring at Prussia with a look of horror and disgust. He moved his gaze from Prussia's outstretched hand, to his face, to his hair, and finally back to Germany, who gulped inconspicuously.

"I must apologize," Hitler said, and Prussia blinked, lowering his hand. He looked thoroughly confused. "There must be some mistake."

"I'm sorry?" Ludwig stuttered, eyes wide.

But Hitler merely shook his head. "Nein. There is a problem."

"Sir, what could be wrong?" Germany asked. He and his brother exchanged a look.

"This cannot be the Kingdom of Prussia," Hitler exclaimed.

"The one and only," Prussia crowed with pride, though there was the hint of a scowl on his face.

For a moment, Hitler's gaze traveled back to the pale man standing in front of him, before shaking his head. "Nein, nein," he said, turning back to Germany. "Please, go and fetch your brother. Surely this… this abomination is not the great nation that raised you."

Prussia gaped, and Germany merely stared at his superior. "Herr Hitler, I-"

"Excuse me?" Prussia screeched, seeming to have recovered from his surprise. Hitler turned an angry to him.

"You cannot possibly be the almighty empire of German ancestry," the man spat. He turned to Germany. "Please, enough with this joke. I find it neither entertaining nor funny. Now, bring me your brother and let us begin this meeting. I have other things that need to be done today and have no time to deal with this freak that you have brought me."

Germany saw Prussia's eyes blaze, and before he could react, the older man stomped forward, grabbing the front of Hitler's shirt and yanking him forward. "What did you call me?"

Hitler's face became red. "You are not the Kingdom of Prussia," he said. "You cannot be him. Your hair and eyes are proof of that. German men are supposed to be normal. And you are not."

Prussia's red eyes bore into Hitler, and Germany was sure that if it were possible, there would be lasers coming out of his eyes. "Are you fucking mental?" he snarled.

The dark haired man turned his gaze to Germany. "Germany, please remove this mutation from my office now. Whatever meeting we may have had planned is cancelled. I do not wish to continue to attempt to have any more conversations with this monstrosity."

The growl that Prussia issued was no longer a warning, and Germany hurriedly stepped forward to separate his brother from his boss before the nation could do any harm. He stood between them and held his hands out towards them. His one actually touched Prussia's chest, just in case his brother got any ideas.

Hitler sighed and smoothed out his shirt. "Germany, I am sorry. The abortion before you was a mistake, one that I will not tolerate. I do not wish to ever see your so called 'brother,' and if we cross paths again, I will act in whatever way I see fit."

"Why, you-" Prussia said, making to lunge forward once more. Germany caught him, however, and pushed him in the direction of the door.

"My apologies, sir," he mumbled, averting his blue eyes. As he continued to guide the albino out to the hall, he gave a sloppy salute and quickly clicked the door shut behind him. He turned around to see Prussia stomping down the hall and hurried after him. "Bruder, wait!" he cried.

Prussia strode out the buildings front doors, slamming the heavy oak with a loud "bang!" before walking down the steps and into the street. Germany caught up quickly, stepping back when the older man suddenly turned on his heel to face him. The anger on his face was something the German had only seen a few times before, and it made his blood run cold.

"Who the fuck does he think he is!" Prussia yelled, red eyes blazing as he glared his brother. "He can't possibly be the 'great and wonderful' leader that everyone's been talking about! He's an embarrassment to you, and he can suck my five meters!"

"Bruder, I-" Germany tried to calm the other nation down, but it was futile.

"And did you hear the way he was talking to me? About me! It was bad enough to speak about me as if I wasn't standing two fucking feet away from him, but to call me 'freak'? That fucking bastard has no right to talk to a nation like that, let alone the awesome me!"

"Ja, bruder, but-"

Prussia pointed a finger at Germany's face. "And you just stood there and didn't say anything! Fuck, West! I'm you're brother, and I should not have to deal with being treated like that!"

"You're right, bruder, of course," the blonde nodded, anxious to calm the other down. Bad things happened when Prussia was this angry.

"Of course I'm fucking right!" Prussia shouted. "I don't like him, and I won't support whatever he wants! Honestly, just because I look different? I'll have you know that I've got noble blood! You should all be jealous that you're not as awesome looking as I am!"

Germany bit his bottom lip. He knew, as did his brother, that the older man was very sensitive about his appearance. While it was true that he had noble blood running through his veins, it was very odd that he was the way he was. No other nations had ever been albino, and, looking at the Prussian race, the fact was that the personification of Prussia should have looked like Germany.

"Are you even fucking paying attention to me?"

Germany blinked, taking a step backwards when furious red eyes were only centimeters from his own. "Sorry, what?" he asked. He should have known better than to space out in front of Prussia.

The other nation snorted. "Figures," he muttered. He glared at his brother. "I _said_, I'm going home. I will never meet with that man again, and whatever he wants, I will oppose. He'll get as minimal support from me and my people as I can give."

The tall blonde nation sighed as Prussia turned around and stomped across the street, heading back to Prussian territory. Germany shot a glance back at his office before jogging to catch up, easily falling in stride beside the smaller man. The other was still cursing under his breath, glaring at anyone who dared to pass the two brothers.

"Honestly, who the fuck does he think raised you? He's a fucking lunatic and I hope he blows his fucking brains out. 'Freak'? I'll show you who the fucking 'freak' is, you fucking bastard. I'm gonna take you're words and shove them down your back down your throat so far that you'll shit them out within ten minutes!"

As the two continued their trek back the way they had come, Germany felt his stomach sink. If his brother and his boss, the two people in this world that mattered most to him, couldn't get along, then there was no hope. He couldn't very well go against his bosses wishes, but disobeying his brother was not in his programming. Prussia had raised him, and the one thing that he had ingrained in the young German's mind was that you didn't turn your back on family, no matter how much you hated them (this was huge coming from Prussia, considering his relationship with Austria).

Germany's confidence sank. Which did he chose? The man who ran his country and had a plan to get back all he had lost from the previous war?

Or the man who had raised him, taught him everything he knew, and was by his side for his entire life?

* * *

><p>Okay, here's the tiny explanation that I owe you.<p>

You see, Prussia wasn't really cool with what Hitler was doing, but still went along with anyways. At least that's what I've gotten from my small amount of internet sleuthing. Also, I thought it would be interesting what would happen if Hitler met Prussia, considering that Gilbo is almost albino looking, and how Hitler basically hated any person who wasn't of arian race. I didn't think the whole thing would go down well, especially considering Prussia's personality, and wanted to explore it a little more.

So this was born.

Reviews are appreciated, and a title is still needed! :)


	5. Life of the Party

Happy birthday, Gilbo! :D

Wrote this in a day, since it just kinda popped into my head. Couldn't resist doing something on Prussia's birthday. I don't care if he's not a country any more! I still celebrate it! XP

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

* * *

><p>Gilbert's birthday used to be the thing of legends.<p>

Ludwig remembers, as far back as he possibly could, that his brother's birthday parties had always been the biggest party of the year. It was more festive that Christmas, louder than New Years Eve, and far more entertaining that anything that anyone else could possibly have come up with.

It took almost an entire month to prepare. As soon as Christmas was over with, plans for the celebration would begin, and would continue until the last second before the guests arrived. There were huge cakes made by both France and Prussia's finest, delicacies from nearly every country in Europe. The entertainment was the most sought after; famous bands, magicians, acrobats, animal tamers, jesters. There was something for everyone to enjoy.

The whole castle was decorated with streamers and colorful papers and shiny bulbs. Festive flowers adorned every table, wreaths hung from every door. The doorways had a bauble hanging from the center. Blue and red ribbons, Gilbert's favorite colors, were wound around the staircase banisters, bows tied neatly at the end. Even the kitchen, where the nation hardly ever ventured, was decorated.

The guests were always on time, and as soon as the first person entered the hall where the party was taking place, the music would start. As more people filtered in, laughter overtook the music. Conversations intermingled. People chatted, they danced, they picked at the small eateries on the food table.

Heads of houses, kings and queens, dukes and duchesses, lords, ladies, barons, baronesses, stable boys, maids, all types of people, important or simply a servant to Prussia, and royalty of other countries, walked among Gilbert's fellow nations.

Simply put, it was the place to be.

An hour or more after the party began, Gilbert would make his entrance. He'd be dressed in his best, hair combed back and neat, as he was announced. Ludwig remembers watching him glide down the stairs with easy, red eyes scrunched up with how big his smile was. He'd hop the last few steps and land with a flourish, everyone laughing and applauding as he grinned, approaching his own king.

Gilbert would then invite everyone over to the huge table, where everyone would sit, the guest of honor at the head, for dinner. Ludwig always sat on his brother's right, the King of Prussia on Gilbert's left. The best beer was brought out - milk for Ludwig when he was younger - and Gilbert would stand. He'd say a few words, thank everyone for coming, and then sit down. His king would follow, adding in what exactly it was that they were celebrating, and then everyone would toast.

"To Prussia!" they all cried, and drank to their country, their friend.

Dinner was a spectacular affair. The best wurst was prepared, and the potatoes, already mashed, simply melted on the tongue. Vegetable were place on the side, for those who didn't have the taste for them. Huge chickens sat on the table in between the candles, bought from the best farmer, no doubt. Wine was brought, for those who had the desire for it. Noodles and pork and beef; all the smells mixed together in a simply mouth-watering aroma that made even the strongest man's stomach rumble.

After the feast was over, Gilbert cut the cake - German Chocolate, of course - and even if the people were too full from dinner, it was consumed within seconds. The music started again, and the floor was cleared for dancing. While some, usually the more intoxicated people, took to the floor, Gilbert, Ludwig trailing after him, mingled in the crowed, going from person to person. He'd ask how their wives or children were doing, how things were over on their end, and "we _must_ go hunting together soon!" before thanking them for coming and moving onto the next.

His fellow nations were a little more excited. Even the stiff Roderich always seemed to have a good time. Elizabeta never gave him a hug, but she did refrain from hitting him with her frying pan, so Ludwig assumed that was a gift in of itself. Francis and Antonio would joke with their friend, and the other nations indulged the man in entertaining conversation.

The festivities lasted well into dawn, at which point, Gilbert was too drunk to see any of the guests leave and Ludwig was granted the task of getting his brother to bed. Looking back, Ludwig supposed that he should be grateful that the albino seemed to wait until his head touched a pillow to pass out. But the blonde would help the other nation climb the stairs to his brother's room. Once he was sleeping, Ludwig removed the boots Gilbert wore and was able to wrestle him out of his pants and jacket. He'd pull the covers over the sleeping form, and then cross over to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside him.

"Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag, bruder," Ludwig whispered, placing a kiss on Gilbert's forehead before turning onto his side and closing his eyes.

* * *

><p>During the wars, Gilbert's parties weren't as big, but they were just as festive.<p>

The soldiers would scrounge up some alcohol wherever they were at the time, and Ludwig would decorate their camp with whatever decorations they could find or make. Paper dolls became the norm, and when Kiku got word, he helped make origami to hang from whatever was around.

When sunset came, Gilbert was ushered to the center of the fray. He'd laugh, clap Ludwig on the shoulder, and offer his thanks.

Then, the rest of the army would raise their glasses to the cheer of "To the Admiral!"

Everyone would drink, a few soldiers who had gotten ahold of some instruments would play some songs, and someone would start a fire. More beer was passed around, and Gilbert would tell stories, dozens of men surrounding him. Somehow, more beer was always found, sometimes wine, depending on where they were. The men laughed, Ludwig smiled, and Gilbert's stories would get wilder and wilder. When the moon was high in the sky, the tall blonde would assist his brother to their shared tent, gently pushing the drunken man down onto his sleeping mat.

"West, you're... you're awesome," Gilbert slurred, red eyes unfocused as the younger man grabbed a blanket and threw it over him. "Not as awesome as me, but still awesome."

"Sure, bruder," Ludwig replied, rolling his eyes.

Gilbert shook his head, arms flailing about. "Nein," he continued. "You're... well, you're just awesome. I mean... you're really awesome..." Ludwig tried to wrestle his arms back under the blanket. Gilbert suddenly grabbed ahold of his brother's shirt and pulled him down so that Ludwig's blonde head was lying on his chest. "You're so awesome, I love you," he said. "I love you..."

He trailed off, and Ludwig was still for a moment. When he heard Gilbert's breathing even out, he gently wriggled out of the hold he was in, making sure that the albino was tucked in. He smiled softly at the sleeping man, and before he turned off the lantern in their tent and climbed into his own little bed, leaned down and pressed his lips on Gilbert's forehead.

"Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag, bruder," he murmured against the snow white hair.

* * *

><p>In their years of separation, Ludwig celebrated his brother's birthday alone.<p>

He'd spend all day baking a cake, and he'd set out the fine china. He'd go shopping for the best beer, getting as much as he could. Then, after dropping it off at home, when it got to be twilight, he'd walk out to the wall. He'd take a stroll around it, listening for anything on the other side. Sometimes, he'd call out for his brother.

No one ever answered.

He didn't even know if his brother celebrated his birthday anymore. After being dissolved, did he still have that right? Was Ivan letting him have a party? Surely it couldn't be as grand as the ones he had had in the past. But even if Gilbert wasn't celebrating, Ludwig would do it for him. Just because he wasn't there, wasn't a nation, didn't mean that he wasn't still human. He could celebrate for Gilbert if Gilbert couldn't.

Shortly after dark, right when the stars began to appear, Ludwig would make his way back home. Kiku and Feliciano would be waiting for him outside. Together, they walked in. Ludwig offered them a fine dinner of wurst and potatoes. Then he cut the cake. Feliciano brought wine; Luwdig drank nearly the entire thing himself. Before it was all gone, three final glasses were poured.

"To bruder," Ludwig said somberly.

"To Gilbert," Feliciano and Kiku agreed, and the three toasted. Germany gulped his entire glass in no time.

Then he broke out the beer.

While he drank in the dining room, Kiku did the dishes, and through his fuzzy mind, Ludwig thought that maybe there was something wrong with that. But the little voice in his head told him to ignore it, and so he drank.

He never remembered what happened afterwards, but that didn't mean Kiku and Feliciano didn't. After about his eighth beer, the tall blonde would stumble out of his chair. He'd cling to the wall in support as he made his way to the door.

"Where are you going, Ludwig?" Kiku asked, worry in his voice.

"Gotta..." Ludwig gulped, slipping on his boots. "Bruder needs to go to bed. Gotta get him to bed."

Feliciano and Kiku exchanged glances. "I think that Gilbert can take care of himself," Feliciano said quietly as Ludwig clumsily opened the door and stepped out into the snow. He took a few steps before tripping over his unties boots and landing face-first.

The Italian hurried to help him up.

"He's gotta go to bed," Ludwig muttered, blue eyes staring off into the distance. "He needs help. Never gonna get there if I don't help him."

"We'll help him," Kiku said, holding the door open as Feliciano coaxed the drunken German back into the house and onto the couch. "You just rest here."

As the small brunette grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch, Ludwig grabbed his wrist.

"You gotta tell him," he slurred. "Tell him... tell him..."

"Tell him what?" Kiku indulged. Feliciano gently removed the blonde's grip and set about taking off the boots.

"Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag," Ludwig sighed, eyes slipping shut. "Gotta... tell... him... Herz...lichen...Glück...wunsch...zum...Geburtstag..."

In the morning, Ludwig awoke alone with a pounding headache. The nausea crept up and soon he was running to the toilet, where he emptied his stomach. As he sagged on the bathroom floor, he rested his hot cheek against the cool toilet seat. He shut his eyes tight, a few beads of tears escaping and landing with a quiet splash in the water.

"Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag, bruder," he mumbled miserably, a final tear making its way down his nose.

* * *

><p>Today, there were no decorations. There was no cake, no music, no spectacular toast. No one was coming over to help in the celebration, because there wasn't going to be one. Instead, on his way home from work, Ludwig stopped at the grocery store. He picked up some wurst, a bag of potatoes, two cases of beer, and rented the newest movie.<p>

When he got home, he greeted the dogs, and set work on dinner, like he did every evening. As the smell wafted through the house, Gilbert emerged from his bedroom, bags under his eyes. He gave Ludwig an unreadable look as he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of beer, and headed to the living room. About an hour later, Ludwig followed him, carrying two full plates balanced on one arm and the packs of beer in the other. He set the beer at the foot of the couch and handed a plate to his brother. He placed his own plate on the coffee table, left, and returned a few minutes later with the movie he had gotten.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at him, but remained silent as he popped it into the DVD player and took his seat next to the albino. About a half hour later, the empty plates were stacked on the coffee table and Gilbert was leaning against the blonde. Five more beers were drained, four of them by Gilbert.

"This movie sucks," the pale man complained, glaring at the television. "Your movie picking privileges are revoked."

"Sorry," Ludwig said. "I thought you'd like this one."

"You thought wrong."

Ludwig gave a half-smile to the older man and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

Another hour passed, and Gilbert drank the next pack of beer by himself. As the movie slowly continued and the darkness outside the window grew deeper, Gilbert's tongue loosened. By the end of the film, he was quietly sobbing. Ludwig plucked the final empty bottle from his brother's hand and gently helped him sit up. He clicked the television off, pulled the other man to his feet and swung a pale over his own shoulders, and slowly made his way to the steps. Gilbert would be sleeping with him tonight.

It was a slow and draining process, as Gilbert's feet didn't seem to want cooperate. But the two finally made it to the top of steps and, finally, Ludwig's bedroom. Gilbert's tears continued, and when Ludwig gently deposited him on the huge bed, he immediately turned on his side and curled into a ball.

"Not yet, bruder," Ludwig whispered, pulling him over onto his back. "We've got to get you out of your clothes." He removed Gilbert's shoes and jeans, setting them aside for now. When he moved to start unbuttoning the white shirt his brother wore, Gilbert grabbed his wrist, glazed eyes turning to his.

"West..." he slurred. "This... is not awesome..."

"I know," Ludwig replied.

"_I_ am not awesome..." Gilbert continued.

Ludwig gently pried away the fingers hold his wrist captive and began to undo the shirt Gilbert wore. "That's not true."

Gilbert clenched his eyes shut. "I used to be so great," he muttered, turning his head away. "Now look at me. I'm pathetic. I'm useless... I'm unawesome..."

The tall German removed the shirt, folding it and setting it at the foot of the bed. When he turned back, Gilbert was staring at him, silently crying. Ludwig smiled sadly at him. He took the man into his arms and pressed his head to his shoulder.

Gilbert cried himself to sleep. When his breathing was even, Ludwig gently lay the man back down. He pulled the comforter up around him and removed his own clothes. When he was in nothing but his own boxers, he walked around the other side of the bed and climbed in next to his brother and took the sleeping albino back into his arms. He smoothed the snowy bangs out of Gilbert's forehead and pressed a small kiss to his temple.

Even though they never really celebrated it anymore, Gilbert still had a birthday, no matter what anyone said. At least one thing remained constant through the years.

"Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag, bruder," Ludwig muttered against the pale forehead. "Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag."

* * *

><p>So...<p>

Yeah...

Not my greatest, but whatevs.

Truth is, I was going write an X-mas story for these two, but my computer broke over my break, so I didn't have it for the majority of the time. And when I did get it back, I was working 10 hours a day every day, so I had no time. Then school started. But long weekends are the greatest, no? My Romano and I have been having an "Avatar: The Last Airbender" marathon all weekend, so while we've been doing that, I've been... slowly working on my stories. Expect another chapter in "For the Love of Tomatoes" and "Without a Paddle" soon!

Also, I finally decided on a name for this! Sadly, no one else came up with it, but if you still have an idea you want me to write out and put in here, I'll gladly consider it! (NO SMUT. I do not write smut.) Just send me a message! Have fun! :D


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